


should i stitch your wound or your mouth?

by saltandtears



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BFFs Martinski, Banter, Dry Humor, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt Stiles Stilinski, Mild Blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-26 12:14:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30105807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltandtears/pseuds/saltandtears
Summary: Stiles gets shot and Lydia is just trying to do the few steps she remembers on how to treat a gunshot wound without fulfilling the urge to sew his blabbering mouth with the sewing kit in the first aid kit.“Lydia I know I look pretty but could you please stop staring and get to calling Scott before I freaking die?” The banshee shakes her head and zeroes in on the boy with a stare that’s equal to X-Men Cyclops’s laser eyes.
Relationships: Lydia Martin & Stiles Stilinski, Mentioned - Scott McCall/Stiles Stilinksi
Kudos: 6





	should i stitch your wound or your mouth?

**Author's Note:**

> ahaha i am inexperienced with gunshot wounds and i just hope i did my research properly because it's like four A.M. right now and i'm not even sure if i used a reliable website.

The door to the Stilinski residence bursts open and the loud commotion is joined by the scuffling of two inebriated figures trying to tumble their way in to the living room. Lydia lets out a strained grumble as she throws Stiles onto the couch and arranges the messy lot of lanky limbs. Once she’s deemed the male to be comfortable enough, she trips over the air towards the kitchen’s cupboards to rummage for a first aid kit.

It probably won’t heal a bullet wound, but it could help slow the infection and the bleeding.

Stiles is helpless enough to let a pained groan slip out his mouth, but the sound doesn’t help ease the sharp burst in his thigh. Thank fuck the bullet only grazed his skin or else they would’ve been doing Grey’s Anatomy right now. Lydia comes back holding up a metal case and she rushes over to the couch with her jacket halfway shrugged off her shoulders.

She reaches over to pry the ripped part of his jeans open.

Stiles almost lets out a screech. “ _Oh_ fuckfuckfuckfuck don’t-” Then he falls limp into the cushions behind him with a soft thump when the strawberry blonde forces her hands to retreat. 

He already feels exhausted from the pain itself; not to mention they literally travelled an entire kilometre on foot because Scott stole Stiles’ jeep, much to Lydia’s displeasure.

“You know,” The banshee starts as she tugged her jacket off her arms, “we should’ve brought you to the hospital instead.”

Stiles snorts at the statement which is quickly morphed into a retching whine when he feels the burning pressure of Lydia pressing the cloth onto his wound. It’s like the fiery depths of hell and the merciless impaling of a spear are the only words he could describe the pain. It was pure fuckery.

“And what? Say ‘Hey my friend here just got nicked by a bullet of some rogue werewolf hunter in the middle of a doggy fight at three ungodly A.M. even though there shouldn’t be _any_ wolves or werewolves in California’? Yeah, good luck with that.”

Lydia rolls her eyes at the dripping sarcasm and stress in the guy’s voice and she _totally_ couldn’t blame him. The thing probably hurt like a bitch, most likely more than losing an earring on the beach. 

Anyway.

She’s seen gunshot wound treating tutorials on some commercials and she is thanking the ever loving fuck that she could still remember the first four steps. First, she’s gotta examine entry and exit wounds, check. Second, apply pressure which she is currently doing now with her three hundred bucks jacket, check. Third, check heart rate.

Lydia immediately kneels up higher to reach for Stiles’ pulse in his wrist. A hundred and twenty? Wait, no. It’s a hundred and fifty beats per minute. Shit, that’s definitely not good. Well, check. 

Fourth, elevate the wound higher than the heart. Okay, not hard.

“Alright Stiles, just lay down for me so things don’t get any uglier okay?” The boy wordlessly complies and pushes himself up by his elbows to lie horizontally across the couch that’s about to get filthy if Lydia doesn’t get a different cloth to cover it. But they can worry about the couch later. Stiles is about to lose a goddamn leg if they don’t act fast. Step four done. The rest is up to her.

Where the hell was Allison anyway? Right, shooting arrows.

Lydia’s frown deepens as red seeps through the beige colour of her jacket and she quickly claws at a throw pillow nearby, slowly rising the bleeding leg onto it. She tosses in a bolster to assure the balance.

“Okay so I have no idea what to do next but I’m pretty sure we should be going to a doctor right now.”

Stiles’ eyes bulges out and Lydia almost regrets saying that.

“I will be in _deep_ shit if we ever, like EVER, go to a doctor, especially if they aren’t part of the supernatural bullshit. And it’s not just me who’s going to dive into deep shit,” he emphasizes his point by awkwardly gesturing towards her hands soaked in blood, “you’re getting dragged in too. Because HELLO? I don’t want to get you involved but apparently you will be no matter what and WE are merely high school students who suddenly _kapow-ed_ their way into werewolves and Alpha and hunter jackshit and we can’t just cha-cha our way into a hospital holding up a leg that’s about to get amputated from a bullet and what’s even worse is that I’m a human and you’re a banshee and how the fuck does that relate to this but we really just can’t go to a normal doctor!”

She’s seriously so ready to pick up the thread and needle in the kit and stitch the living shit out of this hyper kid’s mouth. Does he ever learn to shut up?

“We can go to Deaton,” Lydia looks away from the sewing kit to glance over at Stiles who is already prepared to ramble out another sarcastic reply with that goldfish face of his, “or maybe not.”

“Of course we can’t, he takes care of cats and dogs like Scott, sorry buddy, but I’m a human.” He barely bit back the remark. The strawberry blonde just raises her brows judgingly.

“Whatever! Do you want to live on a prosthetic leg for the rest of your life or do you want to live on your current leg?”

“The first one sounds interesting — OKAY OW SHITSHITSHIT!” The freckled boy cries out at the miserable pain surging through the numb veins in his leg. Lydia smiles triumphantly as she lifts her palm off the mound of jacket cloth piled on his thigh. 

She hasn’t noticed before, but now she understands why Scott couldn’t say no to when Stiles suggested they should kiss, out of curiosity. His cheeks looked pudgy and sleek at the same time, and they were sprinkled with uneven moles. He’s outgrown his buzz cut from last year, and now his eyes are more defined than ever. His nose looks cute too. He was the definition for a doe.

“Lydia I know I look pretty but could you please stop staring and get to calling Scott before I freaking die?” The banshee shakes her head and zeroes in on the boy with a stare that’s equal to X-Men Cyclops’s laser eyes.

“One, you’re not pretty. Two, I was silently judging you. Three, I don’t have Scott’s number. And Four? You can’t die because of a bullet to the leg.” She flips her hair and heads over to the spot where she had thrown Stiles’ bag aside during their struggle with the light switches. She goes through the pockets and pulls out his phone, scrolling through the contacts before tapping on one and dialling it. The line goes through on the fourth ring and Scott’s ragged breathing could be heard.

“Stiles? Bro? You okay?” Lydia had to put the phone a bit farther away from her ear because it almost felt like he was panting into her ear, which is like, gross.

“This is Lydia Martin speaking, and yes, he’s okay. I took good care of your Stiles, don’t worry.”

“She’s doing well Scotty! Tell her to keep it up!” Scott hears Stiles in the background and Lydia turns around to smile with a glare to say, “I swear to God if you don’t shut up I will cross stitch your name onto your lips.”

Stiles falls silent at that, choking down a groan when a throbbing sensation overtook his slender frame. It hurt like a fucking foot stepping on a Lego. In the Stilinksi dictionary, there are three levels of pain.

Pain, excruciating pain, and stepping on a Lego.

The third one always hits different ladies and gents. Always.

“So, we got the hunter and Isaac and I are heading over to pick up Stiles.” Lydia hums in reply and hangs up then shoves the phone back into the bag.

The human spends the next five minutes wincing and complaining until he hears his Roscoe pulling up on the street next to his house. Scott and Isaac are already bounding through the front door before the banshee is even opening said door for the werewolves. The next thing Stiles knows is that his ass is being hauled up into the air by a tired Lahey and into the backseat of his jeep with Lydia at his feet.

Lydia still wants to sew his mouth closed because he doesn’t stop talking on the way to the hospital. 

[...]

Stiles is released from the hospital two days later and Scott, Isaac and Lydia are there to pick him up.

“I’m so glad I’m finally getting out of here. The food seriously tastes like raw mutton mixed with milk and cheese. They even feed you bland Jell-O. Can you believe it? _Bland Jell-O_.” Scott just laughs at his best friend’s antics and the other two can’t help but laugh too. After all, it’s been a while since they’ve had a blabbering and energetic Stiles around. The boy is noticeably limping towards the car but they ignore it and let Stiles be like he wasn’t just shot in the thigh two days ago. It’s refreshing actually, having the obnoxious guy back.

“But how’d you explain to the doctors?” Stiles inquires as he heaved himself onto the passenger seat of his jeep, directing the question towards Lydia. The girl just stares at him from the back.

“Oh it was Scott who did the talking. After all, it was his mom who was on shift.” Isaac interjects and settles his side against the wall of the car. Stiles turns to the other beta expectantly.

“I just said you almost got robbed by someone and you heroically kept everything safe but in exchange took a misfired shot to the leg and the robber ran off.” 

“You made me sound like a hero.”

“Which,” Lydia leans forward to set a hand on Stiles’ shoulder, “you are. You took the bullet for me, didn’t you?”

“Well yeah but you were on gunpoint and I couldn’t just let you get shot—”

“Which! Makes you a hero indeed.” She smiles adoringly and smiles even wider when Stiles flushes intensely.

“Ohmygod— Scott get driving! We’re heading to the diner, my treat!” 

Scott floors the gas and they’re off, speeding down the roads of Beacon Hills with Stiles and Isaac whooping, the shouts disappearing along with the current of the air.

Perhaps Lydia could leave the “sewing Stiles’ mouth shut” to Jackson. She could really use some endless chatting today.

“Wait, do I still have to pay for your jacket that’s now in the trash?”

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed that clusterfuck :)


End file.
